


Runnin' Away With Me

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, TSS, but that doesn't mean its easy, hints of period-typical homophobia, imaginary friend!Merlin, its fine its just lee unwin, slight sexual content but mostly just references, these boys really love each other, well its a bit more complicated than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Harry has known “well, I’m not entirely sure, but you can call me Merlin, if you like” since he was about five years old. Merlin becomes his favourite playmate and partner in crime within minutes of knowing each other. His parents think it’s absolutely adorable.They change their minds when Harry turns seven, and becomes “quite old enough to stop playing with imaginary friends, Harry.”





	Runnin' Away With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pemberley_Press](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pemberley_Press/gifts).



> Title is from "Just My Imagination" by The Temptations.  
> There is a brief moment that is borderline underage, but Harry is 16 and the other boy is 17 (which is not underage in Britain). It's also more or less consensual (Harry is just surprised by it), and no form of sex actually happens. 
> 
> I really hope you like it, because this fic fought me tooth and nail to get finished.  
> Not betaed or Brit-picked, so let me know if there are any issues.

“So, what’s up with Merlin?” Eggsy asks, and Harry promptly chokes on his martini. From the sofa, where he’s stretched out watching the football game, Merlin snorts. “I mean,” Eggsy continues, “I kind of got the feeling you was maybe together or something? But you don’t have any pictures of him, or, I don’t know…sorry, am I totally off base here?”

Harry keeps his face perfectly neutral when Merlin calls back to him, “You can tell him if you want. Probably best to tell him everything if you do, though. He’s not going to believe that someone with as much weird shit on the walls as you doesn’t have pictures anywhere.”

Harry doesn’t know what to tell Eggsy. What Merlin’s suggesting…this is something he hasn’t told anyone, because he doesn’t think he could stand to see the look on their face. Not the part about him and Merlin; most people at work know by now. It’s something of an open secret. No, it’s the other thing that has Harry dragging out the silence between them, because even most of Kingsman doesn’t really believe in this stuff, and Eggsy hasn’t even officially made it into the organization yet.

At Harry’s hesitation, Eggsy asks carefully, “You alright? Is it ‘cause I thought you were gay?”

“I am gay,” Harry responds automatically. “Merlin and I…it’s…complicated.”

***

Harry has known “well, I’m not entirely sure, but you can call me Merlin, if you like” since he was about five years old. A bit precocious for his age, and with unruly black hair, interesting grey eyes, and a sharp mind, Merlin becomes his favourite playmate and partner in crime within minutes of knowing each other. His parents think it’s absolutely adorable.

They change their minds when Harry turns seven, and becomes “quite old enough to stop playing with imaginary friends, Harry.”

“Why can’t they see you?” Harry asks Merlin later, when they’re alone in his bedroom. He squints at Merlin through the lens of the camera he borrowed from his father to take pictures of the butterflies in the greenhouse. He snaps a photo, but when he pulls it out of the camera it just looks like a picture of his bed. “And how come you don’t show up in pictures?”

Merlin shrugs, propping himself up on his elbows and kicking his feet in the air, “How should I know?”

“You know everything.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at Merlin, who sticks his tongue out back, but for the first time it occurs to Harry that his friend isn’t like the other kids Harry knows. He doesn’t go to school, whenever Harry asks about his parents he only gets a shrug in response, and as far as he can remember, when he met Merlin he had been playing alone in his backyard, and the only way in is through the house or the gate, both of which require a key.

“Are you real?” he asks quietly, terrified of the answer. Harry has an uncle who talked to people who weren’t real. He doesn’t know what happened to him, only that his parents don’t like to talk about it, and they never see him anymore. Harry doesn’t want that to happen to him.

Merlin rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “I think so,” he says.

Harry accepts that answer. After all, he’s only moderately certain he himself is real, so why should Merlin be any more confident in his own status of existence? Or maybe he’s just telling himself that to feel better.

“I can’t keep telling my parents I talk to you,” he tells Merlin. “They’ll get mad.”

“Are you going to stop talking to me?” Now Merlin is the one who sounds concerned.

Harry shakes his head. “Never.”

“Promise?”

“Pinkie promise.” Harry solemnly sticks out his finger, and Merlin hooks his own pinkie around it. “I just won’t tell them,” Harry says. “Which means you should be quiet when they’re around.”

Merlin zips his lips, “You won’t even know I’m there.”

***

He’s ten when it occurs to him for the first time to ask, “When you’re not with me, where do you go?”

Merlin looks up from where he’s sprawled on his stomach on the library floor, turning idly through the pages of an engineering textbook that Harry had gotten down from the top shelf of his father’s collection for him. He blinks, like it hadn’t occurred to him either. “Sometimes I’m here,” he says slowly. “Sometimes I wander around a bit while you’re at school. Sometimes…” his brow scrunches up the way it does when he’s thinking very hard about something, “sometimes…I think I’m nowhere at all.”

“That’s not normal,” Harry says. He pushes back his errant curls, but they just spring forward in his face again.

“It also isn’t normal that no one but you can see me,” Merlin points out. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“The list?”

Merlin nods. “The list of questions I’m making. Why can no one else see me? Why can’t you take pictures of me? Where was I before age five? Why do I have a Scottish accent even though we’re in the middle of England? Why can’t I move and touch things normally? Why can I touch _you_? Why do I sometimes seem to exist only when you’re around, and why can I sometimes wander on my own?”

Harry hasn’t mentioned Merlin to his family in three years. They worry about the fact that he doesn’t seem to have any friends at school or cricket, but he overheard them talking last year about how at least no friends means no imaginary ones as well. “Maybe you’re a ghost,” Harry suggests, because to ask if Merlin is a figment of his imagination, to ask him if he’s real again, is too impossible to fathom.

“Maybe,” Merlin says, but he sounds doubtful. “It wouldn’t explain why I keep aging, though.”

“It’s probably magic, though” Harry insists.

Merlin gives a slow nod. “Probably.”

Harry goes over to the ladder and climbs it, sliding along the wall until he finds the books he wants. Pulling out one with an interesting picture of a witch on the cover, he drops down next to Merlin on the floor and flips open to the first page. Merlin gives him an amused look and goes back to his engineering textbook.

***

“That’s wrong.”

Harry tries very hard not to turn around and look at where Merlin is sitting on the table behind the last row of desks. He doesn’t respond, just keeps scribbling at the math problem, the numbers jumbling together in his head the more he tries to unravel them.

Merlin hops down and leans over Harry’s desk, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Slow down.” The glasses – which had appeared one day last year, much to Harry’s surprise and Merlin’s vague interest – slide down his nose, and he pushes them back up, flipping his shaggy black hair back out of his eyes. He taps a spot on the paper, in the middle of Harry’s work, “You made a mistake there.”

Under his breath, so no one will give him strange looks, Harry hisses, “It doesn’t make sense.”

Merlin’s hand is warm on his shoulder, and he squeezes gently. “You’re trying to divide like you would with whole numbers. You can’t do that with decimals. Remember, it looks more like multiplication like this. The answer is bigger, not smaller.”

“I can’t do it!”

“Mr. Hart?” the teacher asks, and Harry freezes as everyone looks at him. “If you’re struggling, I’m sure we can find you a tutor after class.”

“I’m fine, ma’am, he says politely. Everyone returns to their own papers, and the instructor returns to helping another student.

“Here,” Merlin says, looking around furtively before taking the pencil out of Harry’s hand. As far as they can tell, this is the heaviest object he can really interact with. Anything more takes too much energy, like if Harry were to try to lift a refrigerator on his own. Merlin sketches out the answer quickly in the corner of the page, then gives the pencil back to Harry. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Harry makes it through maths, his last period of the day, and then he and Merlin are striding out into beautiful sunshine. But Harry feels anything but sunny. “I don’t know why you have to keep following me to school,” he grumbles. “Couldn’t you stay home and help me with maths then?”

Merlin looks hurt, “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

“Well, help less!” Harry snaps.

“Talking to the butterflies again?” Harry feels a strong hand on his back, shoving him to the ground, and he faceplants onto the pavement. When he looks up, Thomas Kensington, bane of his existence, is standing over him, grinning maliciously down at him. “Or are you just talking to yourself like a freak?”

“I’m not a freak!” Harry protests. He makes to get to his feet, but Thomas shoves him back down.

“I saw you talking to yourself in class today,” Thomas says. “You’re such a freak that you need to make up friends to talk to, huh?”

“Shut it, Thomas,” Harry snarls. He makes it to his feet again and balls his fists, ready to fight, but Thomas just laughs.

“See you around. Freak.”

Harry dusts himself off rather than lunging after the bully, shrugging Merlin’s hands off when the other boy tries to help, “Get off me.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says softly. “I couldn’t stop him.” He doesn’t go through things like a ghost, but it’s like he’s physically repelled away from surfaces, his hand slipping to the side whenever he tries to touch other people no matter how true his aim. He wouldn’t be able to pull Thomas off Harry even if he tried.

“I know!” Harry seethes. “I told you to stop following me to school! This wouldn’t have happened if you just listened to me!”

Merlin shrinks in on himself. “I wanted to learn,” he says in a tiny voice. “I can’t do it at home, not really. It’s not the same. You know I can’t get the books down from the shelf and-”

“It’s not your home!” Harry shouts. “It’s my home! Ugh, I wish you would just go away!” A passing woman eyes him curiously, and he avoids her gaze. When looks up again, Merlin’s face is horrified.

Immediately, Harry wants to take back the words, wants to tell Merlin that he didn’t mean it, he was just angry and saying stupid things. But he can’t, because between one blink and the next, Merlin disappears, and no amount of apologizing, begging, or pleading can get him to reappear.

A week later, Harry hears a knock on his open bedroom door and looks up to see Merlin standing there, shoulders hunched, looking uncertain. Harry throws himself across the room, hugging Merlin tight, and his friend melts into him, hugging back like he’s afraid to let go. “I’m so sorry,” Harry tells him.

“I’m sorry too,” Merlin says. “I won’t go to school with you anymore, I promise. Just please don’t send me away like that again.”

Harry hugs him a little harder. “I won’t,” he promises, as much to Merlin as to himself. He pulls away, “And you’re coming to school with me.”

“Really?” Merlin lights up.

Harry nods, “Of course. Just…you need to be quieter. Please.”

Merlin nods, “I can do that.”

***

The year he goes away to Eton is the year he gets his very first, cutting-edge mobile phone. It takes a great deal of begging his parents, and it’s bulky, and he has to be careful with it when he puts it in the bag with all his textbooks, and sometimes the antenna jams, but it fits in his hand and he can carry it places and yes, it makes him look a bit strange to go everywhere with it pressed to his ear, but it means he can have a conversation with Merlin in public and no one will question it.

He hadn’t been sure Merlin would come with him to Eton, but Merlin had shrugged and said, “I come with you everywhere else.” His outfit shifts to the school uniform, which is an answer in and of itself.

The campus is gorgeous, and Harry is relieved to have his own room, because that’s just one more place he can talk to Merlin. His friend has gotten scarily good at being quiet, and matched with his frequent stony, faraway stare, it makes him positively intimidating sometimes.

“What do you think?” Harry asks, pausing to run his fingers over a flower petal in one of the gardens.

Merlin is busy poking at a screw he found on the ground with his shoe, so his answer is absentminded, “It’s nice.”

“Nice?” Harry says, “It’s bloody gorgeous.”

Merlin looks up, “Sorry?”

“Are you even paying attention to me?”

Merlin flushes. “Sorry,” he repeats, this time as an apology. “Yes, the campus is nice. Although I’m rather looking forward to some of the upper division classes.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Yes, rub it in my face that you’re a genius, why don’t you?” But his tone isn’t harsh, and Merlin laughs. It’s a lovely laugh, clear and ringing, and Harry’s been noticing it more and more recently.

Harry clears his throat and looks away, “We should get back to the dorm.”

“Right,” Merlin nods.

But he hesitates, and Harry says, “You don’t have to come back with me if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Merlin promises, and wanders off. Harry watches him go, and then turns and heads purposefully for the dorms.

It’s strange, being allowed to talk about Merlin and have people not look at him like he’s a freak. To be able to talk about his “friend Merlin, back home” who he calls all the time, and have people nod and talk about their own friends they’ve left behind.

But Harry hasn’t left him behind. Not literally, at least, but it worries him. Merlin spends less time in Harry’s classes and more in the upper division ones, or else he’s lurking around the back corner of the library. Sure, he comes back to the dorm room, but as they spend more and more time apart, Harry can’t help but want to turn to the witchcraft books he keeps tucked away beneath his mattress, the ones Merlin doesn’t know about. He doesn’t know what his friend is - a creature conjured up by his imagination, a ghost whose spirit has bound itself to Harry, a benevolent fae guardian watching over him – but he’s worried that not being near Harry for long periods of time will hurt Merlin, or worse, make him disappear altogether.

And then he tells himself that he’s being stupid, that he’s just jealous that Merlin is pursuing interests that have nothing to do with Harry, and he starts hanging out with Andrew and the other boys from the cricket team. Andrew’s a year above him, but he likes to be around Harry, and Harry likes to be around him. Andrew makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, kind of like how he feels for Merlin, and Harry chases that feeling. Making friends is what normal people do, after all, so why shouldn’t Harry?

“I’m not sure I like Andrew,” Merlin tells him one night.

Harry scoffs, “You’re just jealous that I’ve made a new friend and you haven’t.”

Merlin goes quiet for a minute, and then says, “Maybe.” He gets off of Harry’s bed and curls up in his desk chair, flicking on the reading light and opening up the textbook lying there. Harry rolls over so the light doesn’t disturb him, but he’s almost asleep when he remembers that the reason Merlin isn’t making new friends is because no one can see him but Harry.

***

If Merlin weren’t tied to Harry the way he is, he absolutely could have graduated by now. Of that, Harry is completely certain. He’s equally certain that Merlin would ace the A-levels and get into any university he desires, dazzle all the teachers, and become the world’s greatest…engineer, Harry supposes. Or computer programmer. Something to do with technology.

Instead, he’s taken to tutoring Harry, because he’s sat through all the interesting courses in the last three years and he understands the material a lot better than Harry does. When he’s not doing that, he’s pouring over any set of blueprints for absolutely any piece of technology he can find. “I can’t physically take them apart to see how they work,” Merlin explains. “This is the next best thing.” He’s also taken to sketching out ideas whenever they strike him, although it all looks like complete gibberish to Harry. He just wants to get through exams.

When he’s not studying with Merlin, he’s studying or playing cricket with Andrew. They’ve become close, not quite as inseparable as he and Merlin are (likely because Andrew can actually interact with other people), and while Merlin still says he’s not sure he trusts Andrew, he’s given up trying to get Harry to see that.

There’s been a sort of tension lingering under Harry’s skin lately, and it comes to head when, after practice, when everyone else has left the locker room, Andrew backs Harry up against the lockers and kisses him, the first kiss that Harry’s ever had.

Harry gasps into his mouth and responds reflexively, kissing back until he feels Andrew’s hands moving towards the towel wrapped around Harry’s waist. “Wait,” Harry says.

Andrew pauses, “What’s wrong?”

“We…we shouldn’t…” Harry feels awkward and clumsy and confused, torn between an unfamiliar – or perhaps more familiar than he realized – desire and fear because this is not normal.

“Why not?” Andrew laughs, a low rumbling purr, and up close his eyes are the colour of molten chocolate, swallowed up by the black of his pupils. “Because it’s _wrong_?” He nibbles at Harry’s neck and _oh_.

Still, Harry pushes him away, “Stop.”

Andrew backs off, looking abruptly concerned, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. Everything suddenly feels jumbled, like someone bundled his life up into a bag, mixed in a bunch of marbles, and opened it up over his head. “I have to go,” he says, barely pausing long enough to pull his jogging bottoms on before fleeing the locker room. Andrew doesn’t try to chase after him.

Harry throws himself into his dorm room and slams the door shut behind him, glad for the first time that Merlin isn’t here, is off in the library looking at radio schematics. He shoves his trousers down and gets a hand around his half-hard cock, bringing it to full mast with only a few desperate strokes, and it only takes a few more before he’s spilling over his hand. But the name on his lips isn’t Andrew, and the eyes he’s picturing are grey, not brown.

Harry slides down the door and sits on the floor hard, his hand still covered in his own spunk, his trousers still around his ankles, and quietly has an identity crisis.

Hours later, when Merlin walks back into the room, he takes one look at Harry, lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Harry doesn’t move. He can’t. It’s like every muscle in his body has frozen up and is refusing to cooperate with him, including his mouth. Merlin hesitates, and then sits carefully at the end of the bed. “Harry, talk to me.”

“I’m gay,” Harry says. The words sound foreign in his mouth, like someone else is saying them.

“Oh.” Merlin doesn’t even sound surprised, the bastard.

Harry sits up, “Oh? _Oh?_ ”

Merlin sighs, “What do you want me to say, Harry? So you’re gay. So what?”

“So what?” Harry repeats. “Did you _know_?”

Merlin shrugs, “Not really. I thought…I thought maybe, but then I thought that might just be wishful thinking on my part.”

“Wishful thinking…” Harry trails off. “Wait. Are you…?”

“Gay?” Merlin says. He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He looks uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I can be anything else,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s only one person in the world who I can interact with, and he’s a man.”

They stare at each other for a minute. Harry breaks the silence, “Are you in love with me?”

Merlin nods, “I think so.”

“Oh,” Harry says faintly. Well. That makes things a bit less complicated.

“Oh?” Merlin mimics him, and Harry can’t help but laugh.

“Oh,” he repeats, “as in, ‘Oh, I think I love you too.’”

Merlin’s face lights up in a shy smile, but then it disappears, “What if I only think I like you because I can’t talk to anyone else?”

Harry pauses, “You mean, what if you only like me because I like you?”

Merlin nods.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Harry says. He’s not confident, but he’s not _not_ confident. “There are plenty of things that I like that you don’t, and vice versa. We’re our own people. Even if I’m the only person you can talk to. It’s not some kind of weird Stockholm Syndrome. I think.”

“It’s not,” Merlin confirms, “because that’s not how Stockholm Syndrome works.” But he seems reassured, because he inches towards Harry. Harry meets him halfway.

His second kiss, he thinks, is much nicer than his first.

***

“I don’t know,” Harry says. He’s cuddled up with Merlin on his bed, their limbs tangled together, and Harry never ceases to be amazed by how warm Merlin is, considering the circumstances. “I could go to Cambridge and study zoology.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past few years,” Merlin agrees, but he’s busy nosing at Harry’s jawline, pressing little kisses along it, so Harry’s not sure how much he’s actually paying attention.

“Or,” he says, “I could join the army.”

“Why?” Merlin asks. He pulls away slightly, propping himself up on one elbow over Harry to look at his face. “You’ve never been interested in the military before.”

Harry shrugs and closes his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he says. “Cambridge is all well and good, but with the army…I could be doing something with my life. Something important.”

“Or,” Merlin suggests gently, “could this be about your parents?”

Harry groans and rolls into Merlin, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His partner has filled out amazingly in the past few years, so Harry’s really cuddling into solid muscle, which is nicer than it sounds, especially given the jumpers Merlin usually wears. Harry’s a tiny bit jealous that Merlin doesn’t have to work for his broad shoulders, thick biceps, and six-pack the way Harry does. “They keep suggesting I use university to ‘meet a nice girl and settle down,’” Harry says, in a not-half bad impression of his mother. “No matter how many times I tell them I’m not interested in marriage.”

“Well,” Merlin says dryly. “It’s a bit difficult to explain that you’re not interested in finding a wife because you’re actually in love with the imaginary friend you’ve had since you were five.”

“I’d settle for figuring out how to explain to her that I’m gay,” Harry sighs. “She wants grandchildren, Merlin. I can’t give her that even if my partner _did_ happen to be female.”

“That’s an interesting thought,” Merlin muses. “What d’you think? If I had a uterus and ovaries, could you get me pregnant?”

“I can’t even get you sick, you bastard,” Harry says, thinking about the nasty case of the flu he had last year. Merlin had spent the entire time with him and never even caught the sniffles.

“Mmm, true,” Merlin agrees.

Harry sighs, and Merlin presses a kiss to his temple. “It’s your decision, Harry,” he says. “Whatever you end up doing, I’ll follow you.”

“You have to,” Harry says.

“Yes,” Merlin tells him, “but not because of…whatever this is.” He gestures between them, and Harry assumes he means the imaginary friend thing, not the lovers thing. “I have to because I love you, and because the thought of being away from you makes my heart ache.”

“Sap,” Harry mutters, smiling into Merlin’s skin.

The next day he signs the recruitment papers, and when he comes home to Merlin, whose clothes seem to shift without any conscious effort on his part – and he has apparently tried to control them before, to no avail – his partner is wearing the same thing that Harry will be at boot camp. Decision made.

***

“Hart,” his commanding officer says, poking his head into the room, “Visitor for you.”

Harry looks up in confusion. Usually the only people who visit him are his parents, and they always call ahead to let him know they’re coming. He has no idea who this could be. Merlin, in a white tank top that shows hints of the Celtic knotwork tattoos that now cover his upper chest and back, camouflage trousers, and loosely laced black boots, sits up straight where he’s been lounging on Harry’s desk, feet propped up on his chair, and takes an interest.

The man who steps into the room is on the older side, probably late sixties, if Harry is being generous. His hair, or what’s left of it, is snow white. He closes the door behind him and offers out a hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry Hart.”

Harry shakes his hand firmly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr…?”

“You may call me Merlin.”

He blinks, and his partner’s eyes widen. “Merlin?” Harry repeats. “That’s an…odd name.”

“It’s an alias,” the older man explains. “A necessity in my line of work.”

“And what line of work that?” Harry asks.

“Espionage.”

It takes years of training to keep Harry’s head from swivelling to look at his Merlin, wanting to see what he makes of this. “Like, the British Secret Service?”

“Rather more secret than that,” is the answer. “What do you think of that?” But he’s not looking at Harry. Harry follows his gaze, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say that this Merlin was looking right at his Merlin.

“What are you looking at?” he asks.

The older man (spy. He’s a spy) glances back at Harry, “I’m asking your friend what they think of my position.”

“My friend?” Harry breathes. He’s fairly certain Merlin has stopped breathing altogether.

The elder Merlin gestures towards Harry’s desk, “Your invisible friend giving off the faint grey aura. Very pretty. I haven’t seen one this strong in years.”

“One what?” Harry asks. Merlin leans forward, nearly falling off his perch on the desk.

The agent shrugs, “I’ve always called them spirits. I can’t rightly see them, and I can’t see their auras at all without this.” He holds up his hand, displaying a ring. “But some people, some people have the gift. I’ve been watching you, Mr. Hart. Absolutely no aptitude for technology on your own, mediocre grades in maths and sciences, and yet you’ve been submitting blueprints for some marvellous pieces of work.”

Harry wonders if he should be offended, but instead he says, “You’re right, they aren’t mine.”

“Your friend’s?”

Harry nods. “He’s a genius.”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Merlin responds, but he’s grinning.

Without really thinking about it, Harry turns to him and says, “You absolutely are. Don’t deny it.”

The elder Merlin chuckles. “Does he have a name, your friend?”

“Merlin.”

His bushy white eyebrows shoot up, “Is that so?”

Merlin shrugs, “It’s the only name I ever thought suited me.” Harry relays the message.

“Interesting,” the man says. “Listen. You have a great deal of potential, Mr. Hart. A position has just opened up at my organization. It’s not a guaranteed deal; you’d be competing against eight other candidates for it. I can get one of the agents to sponsor you, but you’d have to bring…Merlin along with you.”

“What’s in it for me?” Merlin asks, and Harry repeats the question.

“Kingsman is one of the most technologically advanced organizations in the world. It would be an opportunity to put such a brilliant mind to work. Kingsman is _very_ magic friendly, and we’ve had spirits work for us in the past, although none as bright as you.”

A look Harry’s never seen before passes across Merlin’s face, and without even pausing, Harry says, “We’re in.”

The agent claps his hands together, “Wonderful. I’ll arrange everything.” He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket, “Here’s the address with the date and time you’ll need to be there by. First impressions are very important, so please, don’t be late.”

Merlin snorts, “You’ve clearly never met Harry Hart.”

“I will be perfectly punctual,” Harry assures the man, shooting Merlin a slight glare even as his partner smirks at him. “We both will.”

***

Harry is in a suit – not his best one, but a very nice one indeed – when he and Merlin walk up to Kingsman Tailors. Merlin’s own outfit is more standard, the jumpers he’s tended to favour throughout most of his life. Harry supposes that, considering he’s the only one who can actually see Merlin, it doesn’t make much of a difference what he wears, although he does think Merlin looks rather smart in it.

“Ready?” he asks quietly.

Merlin nods, “Ready.”

Harry pulls open the door, the bell ringing pleasantly, and Merlin follows him into the building. A customer tries to slip out behind Harry and walks straight into Merlin, nearly knocking both men off their feet. “Terribly sorry!” the other man says. “I didn’t see you there.”

He leaves before Merlin can say anything, which isn’t altogether so impressive because Merlin is completely frozen, just shy of his mouth hanging open, staring at the door. After a few beats, he collects himself enough to say, “What the hell was that?”

“Ah, there you are!” the elder Merlin greets them, striding into the room with another man, this one likely in his late thirties and in a crisp bespoke suit rather than the cardigan Merlin is wearing. “This is Agent Lancelot. He’ll be your sponsor.”

“Pleasure,” Lancelot tells him, shaking Harry’s hand. His eyes flick over to Harry’s Merlin, still standing in the doorway looking thunderstruck, “Walter tells me you brought a recruit for our tech department?”

“I assume that’s him over there. Don’t be shy,” Walter tells Merlin, smug smile on his face as he beckons him over to join them. Merlin approaches hesitantly, and Walter offers out his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Merlin.”

It takes Merlin a moment to realize that he’s being offered a handshake, and Harry has to hide a smile at how much Merlin looks like a fish out of water right now. He shakes Walter’s hand, “The pleasure is all mine.” He pauses, “Why...how can you see me?”

“Kingsman was built on magic,” Lancelot says. “Not everyone believes that anymore, but it’s the perfect blending of magic and technology.”

“All parts of the Kingsman complex have rune-work all the way down into the foundations,” Walter explains. “When you’re inside, you’ll appear as Harry or I do, and you’ll be able to interact with your surroundings much the same. The magic world isn’t as strong as it used to be, but this at least has not lost effect. As I said, I’ve not seen a magical aura as strong as yours in years, but your aptitude for technology makes me think you’re the bridge we need to rely less on magic and more on machines. The world is changing, after all. Given your chosen name, I might even think you were destined to find your way to us.”

If Harry had been on the fence about this before – and he hadn’t been, but if he _had_ – he’s certainly not now. Merlin looks like he’s been given every Christmas of his life all at once. “Alright,” Harry says. “We’re here on time, as requested, and we’re eager to get started. Let’s do this, shall we?”

***

“Congratulations, Galahad,” Merlin purrs when Harry steps through the door of his office clutching Mr. Pickle like a lifeline. He’s only been there a year, and he has his own office, that’s how well Merlin is doing here, taking to the job like a duck to water, but that’s not what Harry’s really thinking about at the moment. To be fair, he’s not thinking about much of anything, his entire body still shaking slightly even as he fights to calm his racing heart.

Harry closes the door behind him and collapses into a puddle on the floor, and Merlin sighs, “Oh, love. Come here.” He tries to lift Mr. Pickle from Harry’s arms, but when Harry just pulls him closer he wraps up both man and dog in a hug. “It’s alright.”

Harry tries to shrug him off, but Merlin is holding him too tight. “Did you know?” he asks sharply. “Did you fucking know?”

“Did I know about the final test, you mean?” Merlin asks. Harry hates how infuriatingly soft his voice is, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “Not until about half an hour ago. Walter didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to end up telling you.”

“Alright,” Harry says. That makes him feel a little better. He allows himself to relax into Merlin’s embrace, even as Mr. Pickle squirms between them in protest at being smothered.

“Why don’t we go home?” Merlin suggests. They’ve got a nice little flat on Stanhope Mews that technically belongs to Harry’s parents, but that Harry had received as a present when he told them he was going for a tailor apprenticeship in the city. Neither of them have actually used it yet. Merlin has been enthralled with the idea of having a physical form (it’s a _tailor’s_ shop. He can change clothes consciously for the first time in his life, not to mention the obvious change of interacting with other people and things heavier than a pencil), and with Harry required to live in the complex, there wasn’t much need for either of them to go home.

There is now. “That sounds like an excellent idea,” Harry agrees.

A knock on the door makes them jump apart.  Dotty, one of the women in the tech department, pokes her head in, “Vivian? Merlin wants to see you.”

Merlin sighs, “Tell him I’ll be right there.” He stands up, and Harry does too. When Dotty is safely out of earshot, Merlin says, “Sorry. You go ahead. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Alright,” Harry nods. He presses a kiss to Merlin’s cheek. “I’ll see you then.”

Merlin comes home five hours later to find Harry spread out on the sofa in the living room, watching football. Harry looks up guiltily when Merlin comes in, “I was channel surfing.”

“Sure, you were,” Merlin teases. He neatly steps around Mr. Pickle, who can somehow sense that his favourite human – and he does like Merlin more than Harry, of that Harry is almost certain – is there even if he can’t see him, and who is always put out at not getting head scratches when they aren’t at the complex. Merlin slides neatly into Harry’s lap, and purrs, “One of these days, I’ll get you to admit that you actually like football.”

“Never,” Harry says stubbornly, but it loses the effect when it comes out more like a gasp as Merlin rolls his hips down against Harry’s, and Harry arches up into it.

They christen the sofa, the desk in Harry’s office, and the dining room table for good measure before they finally make it to bed. Cuddled up to Merlin, his partner pressing sweet, chaste kisses against Harry’s shoulder in sharp contrast to the filthy, passionate ones they traded not half an hour ago, Harry is suddenly glad he never voiced his concerns to Merlin. The first few weeks at Kingsman, he had been worried that, now that Merlin can be seen by other people, he might want to leave Harry for someone else.

He’s completely convinced that that isn’t going to happen, at least for now. Merlin loves him as much as he loves Merlin. And Kingsman is going to be good for them both in so many ways.

***

“Jesus Christ!” Harry doubles over, clutching his chest, because he thinks this might be what a heart attack feels like. Alright, probably not, but considering he walked into work this morning to see his partner’s head completely shaved, he thinks the surprise is enough to give an old man like Walter, enjoying his retirement as he is, an actual heart attack, if not a strong young man like Harry.

Merlin arches his eyebrows at him, “Go ahead. Say it.”

“What the hell happened to your hair?”

“I had the wardrobe department shave it off this morning,” Merlin says. “Wasn’t sure that would work, but I think it’ll hold up. If I can wear the same clothes off-site, I think a haircut will stay too.”

“Yes, but why shave your head?” Harry asks. He loves Merlin’s hair, lovely and black and soft to the touch.

“Because apparently whatever spirit-genetics I inherited are determined to have me bald by age thirty, Harry. I’m just beating them at their own game.”

Harry has noticed Merlin’s hair thinning over the past few years. He hadn’t wanted to say anything. He steps forward and reaches a hand out, “Can I touch it?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Fine.”

Harry runs a curious hand over Merlin’s head. It’s not perfectly smooth, like he was expecting. There’s little bits of stubble beneath his fingers, but all in all it isn’t an unpleasant texture. “I like it,” he decides.

“Yes, because the deciding factor was whether or not you thought it was attractive,” Merlin says sarcastically, but Harry can hear the hints of relief beneath the words. “You really do like it, though?” he asks after a heartbeat, sounding shyer than Harry has heard him in a long time.

“I really like it,” Harry confirms. “It’s very dignified. Suits you.” If they weren’t at work, in full view of several techs, he would kiss Merlin to prove it. As it is, he settles for squeezing Merlin’s arm and stepping back. He clears his throat, “So. Mission debrief?”

“You’ll like this one. It’s got a bit of magic in it.”

Harry tilts his head, interested. Walter hadn’t been kidding; magic is weak, limited to a few charms and talismans that Kingsman gives only it’s most important agents, although they have a lot of research (much of it misfiled, according to Merlin) dating back centuries, even before the formation of the organization. “How so?” he asks.

“Arms dealer who may or may not have some fae ancestry,” Merlin explains. “His complex is warded. In addition to taking him out, Arthur wants you to see if you can find out how he’s doing it and, if possible, bring it back.”

“Sounds like fun,” Harry grins. “Where do we start?”

***

Harry clutches at his chest, gasping for air. The pressure he’s putting on the bullet wound isn’t doing him much good; blood is still seeping out all over his hands as Merlin says frantically in his ear, “Just hang on, Harry, the extraction team is on the way.”

“Merlin,” Harry manages between ragged breaths, “I’m so…so…sorry. This is…all my…fault.”

“Damn right it is,” Merlin rages. “We have fucking bullet-proof fabric for a reason! What were you thinking? No, don’t answer that.” He takes a breath, and it sounds shaky over the coms. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”

“I…deserve…it.”

“Yes, you do,” Merlin tells him. “But not right now. Right now, I am going to be calm and professional and get you out of there, and then when you’re all better, _then_ I’m going to yell at you for being a reckless idiot. Just hold on for me, damn it.”

“I lo-“ Harry fights the black spots dancing across his vision. He hears the thundering of feet like the distant crash of waves, nearby but removed from him. There’s something very important he needs to say, but the words slip away from him as hands lift him up and the darkness swallows him whole.

He wakes up in a hospital bed, the steady rhythm of a heart monitor the first thing he hears. He slowly blinks open his eyes, squinting against the harsh florescent lights. An indistinct figure is to his right, and he slowly turns his head, stiff muscles protesting loudly, to see Merlin, hunched over in a chair.

“I think I’m ready for you to yell at me now,” Harry says, the words coming out as more of a croak, his voice rough with disuse.

Merlin jerks upright, “Harry?” His hands are shaking when he reaches out and takes Harry’s, “You’re awake.”

“I wasn’t about to let a little gunshot wound take me away from you,” Harry says with much more bravado than he actually feels. “You look like shit.”

“I haven’t been sleeping,” Merlin admits. “You’ve been out for a week. I wasn’t sure…” He swallows hard, and Harry frowns.

“I’m alright, Merlin.” He wants to call him darling, wants to sweep him up in his arms and tell him everything is going to be okay, but he can’t. Not here.

“You’re alright,” Merlin repeats like a prayer. “Harry…”

“What?”

“I thought I was going to die too.”

Harry thinks his heart stops, although the monitor doesn’t agree. “ _What?_ ”

“Kingsman doesn’t have a lot of information about…people like me,” Merlin says. “Or, at least, not that I’ve found. But what I do know…spirits of all kinds are usually tied to places or objects. Not people. But the consensus seems to be: destroy the thing the spirit is linked to, and the spirit gets destroyed too.” He shudders slightly. “I thought…I thought you were going to die, Harry. You’ve gotten hurt before, but never like this, never so bad that Morgana thought you weren’t going to make it. And…Jesus Christ, it’s selfish of me, but I was terrified that if you died, I’d die too.”

It’s not selfish of Merlin. It’s selfish and self-centred of Harry that he hadn’t even considered that possibility. “Maybe I should quit,” he says. “That way you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Merlin shakes his head, “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. We both love it here. Just…take better care of yourself in the future, Harry. _Please_. For both our sakes.” He looks like he wants to say more, but then he abruptly lets go of Harry’s hand as Morgana bustles in.

“I saw from the monitors that Sleeping Beauty finally woke up,” she says. “How are you feeling, Agent Galahad?”

“Like I got shot.”

“Very funny,” she says dryly. She glances at Merlin, “Now that he’s conscious, Galahad is in the clear. You should get some sleep.”

“She’s right,” Harry says. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says sarcastically, but he smiles. He stands, and pats Harry’s shoulder carefully. “You be good for Morgana. I know what you’re like when you’re confined to bedrest.”

“I will be a perfect angel while Morgana works her magic,” Harry promises with a hint of a smirk. “I’ll take all the potions she wants me to and not get up until she signs off on it.”

“They’re not potions,” Morgana says stiffly. “And there’s no such thing as magic.”

“Sometimes I think you’re wound to tight,” Harry tells her brightly. “It’s just an expression.” He winks at Merlin, who rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

***

“Oh!” Percival takes a step back as Harry and Merlin scramble to untangle themselves from each other, Harry’s hair in a state of complete disarray and Merlin’s jumper discarded somewhere on the floor, his shirt half unbuttoned. “I’m terribly sorry, I thought you heard me knock.”

Merlin clears his throat, “It’s not what it looks like. Galahad was…”

Percival closes the door behind him and arches an eyebrow, “Yes, please do finish that sentence. I’d love to hear how you’re going to explain why Harry’s tongue down your throat is absolutely crucial for work-related reasons.”

Harry and Merlin exchange a look, and then Harry asks, “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

“That’d be a bit hypocritical of me, don’t you think?” Percival responds, and a weight is suddenly lifted off of Harry’s chest. “How long have you been together?”

“Since we were sixteen,” Harry says, “but we’ve known each other since we were five.” It’s thrilling, in a way. He’s never gotten to tell anyone about his relationship before, and having someone who knows and isn’t judging them for it is a wonderful feeling. He’s actually surprised they haven’t been caught before now, although the fact that Merlin doesn’t appear on camera is a help in that department. Why no one questions Merlin’s absence from Kingsman security film is beyond Harry. He supposes they assume the wizard removes the footage of himself, as he does with footage of other indiscreet moments.

“You mean Merlin wasn’t born a grumpy old man?” Percival jokes in his usual deadpan.

“Believe it or not, I was once a child, just like Harry,” Merlin says, although the ‘just like Harry’ is up for debate. “The only difference is, one of us actually grew up.”

“Hey!” Harry protests. “I _am not_ childish.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows, “You’re pouting right now.”

Harry pauses, and then makes the physical effort to make his expression more neutral. Percival looks amused. “Next time,” he says, “I’d recommend locking the door.”

“Right,” Merlin flushes. “Sorry about that.”

“I’ll let you get back to it, shall I?” Percival says, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He walks backwards to the door, “I have something to discuss with Merlin, but it can wait.”

When he closes the door behind him, Harry looks hopefully back at Merlin, who shakes his head. “Killed the mood,” he says.

Harry slides to his knees and presses a kiss to Merlin’s hip, “I think I know a way I can bring it back.”

Merlin’s breath hitches as Harry inches closer to the growing bulge in his trousers, “Harry. The door.”

“In a minute, darling.”

“ _Now_ , Harry.”

***

“I should have done something!” Harry rants. He’s aware he’s probably wearing a path in the carpet with his pacing, but he can’t find it in himself to care, “It’s my fucking fault, and I should have been better!”

“Mistakes happen,” Merlin tells him. Harry knows his partner is just trying to calm him down, but Harry’s a bit beyond consoling at this point. The only way he’s coming down from this is to push straight through and wear himself out.

“Lee’s son will have to grown up without a father because of my mistake,” he bites out. “That’s not just a mistake, it’s a travesty.”

“Yes, it is,” Merlin says, “but there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pats the sofa, “Sit down, love.”

Harry collapses onto it, head in his hands, “How the hell do you make up for the death of a loved one? A stupid medal? No wonder she looked like she wanted to slap me.”

Merlin wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and draws him close, “Lee made his choice, Harry. He was a bright young man, and he knew exactly what he was doing. He saved our lives, James’s, yours, mine.”

“He didn’t even know you were in the room!” Harry says. He pauses. “Do you think…Kingsman uses magic. Merlin-“

“No,” Merlin shakes his head. “You know the rules, Harry. Magic can’t bring people back from the dead.”

“Yes, it can,” Harry insists, pulling out of Merlin’s embrace so he can face him properly. “I’ve seen the books, I know you can do it.”

“Maybe we can,” Merlin says, “but that doesn’t mean we should. That’s dark magic you’re talking about, Harry. You can’t just bring people back to life; there are consequences, especially with magic as weak as it is.”

“What about you?” Harry asks. “You’re a spirit, and you’re strong.”

“We don’t know what I am,” Merlin says. “And odds are I’m some sort of construct anyway. Not a person, not like Lee was.”

“But-“

“He’s gone, Harry. You have to accept that.”

Merlin’s tone is deadly serious, and Harry slumps down. He feels cold all of a sudden. He slowly looks at Merlin, “What do you mean, you’re not a person? You’re real.”

Merlin hesitates. “I’ve looked into all the files Kingsman has. Spirits…we’re more ideas than people. I’m real, just…just not in the sense that I’m really a person.”

Harry doesn’t like where this conversation is going. Lee’s death is bad enough, but for Merlin to talk about himself like this…Harry is surprised at how fierce his voice is when he snaps, “So, what, I’m in love with an idea?”

“Harry-“

“That’s fucking perfect,” Harry says. “Harry fucking Hart. So pathetic he can’t ever have any real friends, much less a real relationship. No, he has to fucking imagine them, make a fake lover because god forbid any _real_ person could want him.” He stands up.

“Harry, wait-“

Harry rounds on Merlin, “I’m going upstairs to bed, and I’m going to sleep _alone_. I’m going to wake up alone, go to work alone, and when I come home again I’ll still be alone. Because you’re not real. You’re a fucking _idea_.”

Stunned silence falls between them, and then Merlin asks in a small voice, “Are you going to wish me away again?”

Harry pauses. He’s still utterly furious, but he remembers his promise. “What’d be the point?” he says bitterly. “You can’t get rid of an idea.”

He goes upstairs. Merlin doesn’t follow him. The bed is cold, and Harry doesn’t sleep a wink.

When he comes downstairs in the morning, Merlin is gone, and Harry panics for a solid minute before he finds the note Merlin stuck to the fridge: _I went to work. Come find me when you’re ready._

Harry takes the mandatory week of leave to get his head on straight, and he doesn’t see or hear Merlin once in that time. When he comes back to work, he feels hollow, like someone has scooped out his core.

He finds Merlin in his office, immersed in the data on four separate screens. Harry knocks gently on the doorframe, “May I come in?”

Merlin looks up in surprise, and his expression softens. He nods, and Harry steps inside and closes the door behind him, clicking the lock shut. “I owe you an apology.”

“No, you don’t,” Merlin says. “I shouldn’t have dropped that on you like that. You were already upset, and I just made things worse.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t excuse my own behaviour,” Harry says. He sits down, “How long have you been sitting on that?”

“Awhile,” Merlin admits. “It’s not…I’m still not sure how I feel about it. I feel like a person. I have all my memories. I feel things. But…the way Kingsman classifies magic…”

“If you feel like a person, then you’re a person,” Harry says. “Fuck Kingsman and fuck their bullshit classifications of ‘magic’ that no one even believes in anymore.”

Merlin can’t help but laugh at the insistence in Harry’s voice, but it’s soft and unsure. “I don’t know.”

“Neither do I,” Harry says, “but I’m not sure it matters. So what if you’re an idea? People fall in love with ideas all the time. A classification doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“So we’re okay?”

“That depends,” Harry says. “Are you okay?”

Another laugh. “I feel like I should have had this identity crisis a long time ago. I’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll be here,” Harry tells him. “Whatever you need.”

“Even if I decide that maybe this,” Merlin gestures between them, “won’t work?”

Harry swallows hard at that, but he nods, “If that’s what you need.”

“I don’t think it is,” Merlin reassures him. “I love you. And…I think we can make this work.”

“I think so too,” Harry says. “We haven’t made it this far for nothing, darling. I have faith in us.”

“I’ll see what else I can pull up about magic,” Merlin says. “The Kingsman records are…a bit all over the place. There’s a lot I just skimmed through. I’m not sure how much is relevant.”

“Would you mind terribly if I went over them with you?” Harry asks. He feels a bit guilty; his interest in pursuing information about Merlin’s condition more or less ended when he realized he was gay and they could be together as lovers. He thinks it’s about time he made up for that.

Merlin smiles, “I’d like that very much.”

***

“Merlin…” Harry tries to figure out how to explain it without Eggsy thinking he’s crazy. “He’s magic,” is what he settles on.

Eggsy laughs, “Sure, he’s a wizard.”

“Actually, he’s a mental construct,” Harry says. “Some piece of fae blood in my ancestry latched onto my imagination as a child and produced a being with a life of its own.” Or, at least, that’s the most likely option. Magic is apparently fickle, and not everything aligns perfectly, so out of all their research, Merlin and Harry decided that that was the closest to the truth. Magic is dying anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what kind he is. That he exists at all is a miracle, and one that Harry is eternally grateful for.

Eggsy stops laughing and stares. “Pull the other one.”

“I’m quite serious,” Harry says. “He’s here now. Kingsman is equipped with runes that allow him the fully manifest there, but outside the complex I’m the only one who can touch, see, or hear him.”

Eggsy looks around the study, “So he’s here. Like, here in this room?”

“Actually, he’s in the living room watching the game. If you don’t believe me, ask me something that only Merlin would know. I’m not wearing my glasses, which means he can’t feed me the answer over the coms, and he certainly hasn’t told me everything that happened while I was comatose.”

“You know,” Merlin calls to him, “that would probably work better if we didn’t have to shout across the house. And for the record, I don’t think I told you about the way he told me off after the parachute jump.”

“You most certainly did not,” Harry calls back to him, eyeing Eggsy, who looks startled at the apparently one-sided conversation has just entered into. “What did he say?”

“Asked me if he was the expendable candidate, that sort of thing.”

“Eggsy,” Harry sighs, “did you really ask Merlin if he considered you to be expendable? Because a gentleman does not shout at his superiors, and he does not care what others think about him.”

Eggsy’s mouth drops open. “You ain’t kidding, are you?” he says. He wanders past Harry into the living room, glancing around. Harry follows him and hovers in the doorway. “Merlin?”

“What part of no one else can see of hear me was confusing to you, lad?” Merlin asks, but only after he’s turned on his glasses. Harry still has no idea how the technology works even though Merlin isn’t quite in the physical world like this. He assumes magic, and leaves it at that.

“Jesus, that’s weird,” Eggsy says. “Where…where are you?”

Merlin stretches out with his foot and nudges the stack of magazines on the table. Eggsy’s eyebrows shoot up when it moves, and Merlin adds, “You’d better get used to my voice in your ear if you’re going to be Lancelot. It’s how I speak to most of the agents anyway.”

“Right,” Eggsy nods. He pauses, and then asks, “Can I sit and watch the game with you? Haven’t been able to catch them lately, what with all the training and shit.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows at Harry, but says to Eggsy, “I’ll thank you not to call my hard work ‘shit.’”

“Sorry,” Eggsy says, “I didn’t mean-“

“It’s alright, lad,” Merlin says. “Yes, you can stay, if Harry thinks it appropriate.”

“Aces!” Eggsy turns a pleading expression on Harry, “I mean, unless you’ve got anything else planned for me tonight?”

“I suppose we could watch the game,” Harry says, and it comes out less grudgingly than he would like. He settles on the sofa next to Merlin, who wraps an arm around him and encourages Harry to lean his head against Merlin’s shoulder. Eggsy takes the armchair, and the night quickly devolves into shouting at the screen as Harry’s – he means Merlin’s of course, he really isn’t interested in the sport, he swears – team starts to win.

***

Merlin fights to keep from crying out as a sharp pain shoots through him, and he nearly falls out of his chair. The screen shows one last imagine of blue sky flecked with blood, and then flickers black. Merlin puts a hand over his heart, terrified and shaky, and looks around the room.

He’s still here. He hasn’t gone anywhere. It doesn’t matter that Kingsman has all the rune-work to allow him to manifest. The rules of magic are complex, but they make this one thing very plain. His host dies, the link severs, and Merlin dies too.

Merlin isn’t dead, which means Harry isn’t dead. Calmly as he can manage, his voice just the right side of professional, he taps the side of his glasses and says, “Arthur? Permission to plan an extraction from Kentucky?”

“Permission denied, Merlin. Galahad is dead, and we have more pressing concerns at the moment.”

“Galahad is not dead,” Merlin says hotly. He wishes he were face to face with Chester for this, but as it is he’s irate and not willing to take anymore shit from Arthur, who was there when Merlin was first hired and who doubted him from the start. “I know he’s not dead because I’m still here. You know how magic works as well as I do, _Chester_ , and if I’m still here, that means Harry is alive.”

“We still have more pressing-“

“Do you know how old I am?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am fifty years old.” Well, maybe forty-five, depending on how you want to count it, but he’s making a point. “I have known Harry since I was five years old, and I have loved him the entire time in some form or another. Four and a half decades, I have loved him, so when I say that he is the love of my life, that is not an exaggeration. It is undeniable fact. And if he is still alive, there is no force on earth, magic or otherwise, that can keep me from him. So, I’m going to ask again: permission to plan an extraction from Kentucky? And if you say no, then I’m going anyway, and you can find yourself a wizard in the meantime.”

There’s silence across the coms, and it feels like victory. _I’ll come for you, Harry_ , Merlin silently promises himself. _I’ll find you again._

Slowly, clearly grudgingly, Chester says, “Permission granted.”


End file.
